Page 117 of Grace

“Your body doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Traitor,” she pants, pushing back against me, to make me slide deeper into her.

“Tell me about it, Grace. I want to hear all the dirty details.”

I pin her to the wall and move with slow, deliberate strokes, dragging moans and screams from her, again and again. My muscles tense, and for a second, I stop and close my eyes—I bask in ecstasy the smell of her hair and her desire spreads in me.

“You are sick, Baker,” she pants.

“But this is what you want. You said you needed me. Well—this is me, Grace.”

Grace

Pretense and reality start to blur together. The whole world becomes a huge, chaotic kaleidoscope of color. And now I can’t see the boy who bought me cotton candy at the amusement park anymore. Chase has changed since the murder—he’s laid himself bare, shedding the mask he offered to put on for me. It felt good to pretend, to act a little differently, to pretend he hadn’t kidnapped me nine years ago, as if he hadn’t abused me and broken me.

But now the very thing I’ve been yearning for is happening—we’re together without pretending. Chase has always been able to see to the bottom of my soul, to know what I want. He’s offering me the world, and I’m feasting, eating until I’m close to bursting—but can I face the truth? Can I accept myself? He doesn’t feel any guilt, but I do. Because of Cyrus, because of my family… But fuck it, I fucking love the way his dick is getting even deeper into me, the way his hands touch my ass and my pussy, the way his kisses burn against my skin.

I want everything that is Chase Baker.

Afterward, I shower and put on that skirt. It makes me feel like an innocent little girl. A fairy. I step out of the bathroom. Chase’s dark, obsessed gaze finds me. I bite my lip playfully and spin around. This is what I’ve always desired, what I’ve always wanted. The fifteen-year-old Grace McCarty wanted that special, mysterious boy to like her. She wanted those dark, frightening eyes to search for her, to see only her.

People would be right to think I’m not right in the head—I’m not, and I don’t care. As long as he looks at me like this, as long as I’m the only one he wants, nothing else matters.

Chase is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me with a blank expression. He pulls me in and runs his tongue over his upper lip. Anticipation flashes in his eyes before he grabs my ass and settles me in his lap. I sweep that dark lock of hair out of his face.

“Wonderful.”

The word sears itself into my heart and soul. The air turns hot. My skin—and the space between my legs—burns.

This fire has never died out, because Chase Baker did something to me nine years ago. The moment we first met, he achieved that my thoughts would revolve around him all day. Those were dark hours—endless dreams that twisted into nightmares, then turned into reality.

I cup his face gently in my palms, then kiss him, sliding my tongue into his mouth—brushing his lightly at first, then deepening the kiss. Our tongues tangle and dance, full of curiosity and hunger.

Chase shoves his pants down. His cock springs free, hard, its hot, bare skin—and the smooth skin of his glans—pressing against the insides of my thighs. He tucks my hair behind my ear and kisses the sensitive hollow of my neck. He kneads my breasts softly. My womb clenches and my nipples harden, aching with desire.

“I thought…” My words come out halting, because I’m filled with desire, “…you wanted to get on the road.”

“We’re gonna hit the road,” he whispers against my skin. His kisses burn into me. “But before we leave, I want you to do it. Voluntarily, without any distractions. Be the one who controls your life, your desires. Set your desires free. Empty your mind and submerge yourself in your feelings, just like you did in the bay. I want to feel you, Grace.”

I shudder softly. Chase slips the thin strap of my dress off my shoulder, then peels it down over my breasts. His hot breath makes them ache even harder, and I press them into his face, full of yearning. His lips graze my sensitive skin. I throw my head back and tip my hips up slightly. I wrap my hand around his cock and guide it to my entrance. My mind goes completely blank—I’m not thinking about the past or all the horrors I’ve lived through. I take all the pain, the anger, all the disgusting memories, bottle them up, and throw them away. I want to feel alive. To enjoy life, to live my desires freely, and bask in the sunlight of this corrupt, sinful love. Bask in the light that pours off him.

I sink down onto him slowly, then rest against his shoulder. His manhood throbs hard, filling me completely. I roll my hips feverishly, chasing pleasure, feeding my body and soul. With him.

“A meadow?” I arch one eyebrow and look at Chase. “Do I want to know what kind of dreams you have besides the dress?”

He flashes me a wide, overwhelming grin that makes my heart race. His gaze drags over me, up and down, and I feel like wounded prey—an animal being hunted by a predator that wants a taste before it sinks its teeth into my throat.

“You said I don’t fit into your dreams because my aura is too dark. But my dreams are dark, and you fit into them perfectly,” he says, stroking my bare arms.

I bite my lip and drop my gaze, then trace a circle in the dirt with the toe of my canvas shoe.

“Will you tell me about them?”

“I’ll show them to you.” He takes my hand.

I let him lead me. Let him introduce me to his immensely dark, sick world.

The silky blades of grass tickle my bare shins. The meadow is an endless green ocean, alive with a thousand tiny lives—bees buzzing, grasshoppers hopping, butterflies flashing their colors as they flit, spiders spinning webs, quick little lizards darting through it all. My heart tunes itself to the meadow’s humming pulse—beautiful, peaceful, untouched by civilization. Wildflowers and the thick scent of summer blend into something singular. Singular, just like the mind of Chase Baker.